


(s)exi boi

by nikincafe



Series: The Pet Name Incidents [3]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: (kind of), Bottom Stu, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Photography, Threesome - M/M/M, Top John, Top Paul, Voyeurism, tiny voorrison towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 04:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikincafe/pseuds/nikincafe
Summary: stuart’s going to wear the dress, whether he likes it or not.(astrid decides that she likes it.)





	(s)exi boi

The past month or two has been difficult for Stuart. He’s being torn up bit by bit, a little shred of his already fragile sanity being chipped away at with each passing moment. He has tried to put off the decision, tried to convince himself he doesn’t need to rush, tried to convince everyone that everything is going fine and he’s lied, saying he’ll decide soon and wincing with guilt whenever he’s asked about it.

_ It _ being the fork in his road—either to remain loyal to music, to the band, to his  _ masters _ John and Paul, or to abandon it all, finish his education and marry Astrid. Really, it’s up to him, so it shouldn’t be hard to choose, given that the most beneficial option is also the blatantly obvious one.

So why is it so hard to choose it?

Maybe, just  _ maybe, _ a small part of him enjoys being with John and Paul. He wants to be owned, to be shoved down and forced to beg, to squirm and moan, his trembling little body at the mercy of his sadists. He hates it but he loves it; he wants more. He can’t help himself.

And every time he goes to sleep, Astrid is on one side of his mind, and John and Paul are on the other. Surely he can’t keep doing this, he protests to himself… and yet the worry falls away from him in sleep so quickly.

—

Stuart wakes up at about noon on a modest summer day, having gone to bed at about six in the morning prior. Astrid had already left for work, and he has the house to himself for the time being. Peace and quiet galore! After some morning tea, he heads out to take a walk. There’s been buzzing in his head; the fresh air seems to alleviate it somewhat. He’s been making a habit of taking walks during the day now. The doctor said it was bad for him to be holed up in the attic all the time, suffocating in paint fumes. Moreover, strolling around in the nice, uneventful Altona district serves to remind him that there’s a life outside of the hectic and sinful Reeperbahn—a life outside of John and Paul. In this part of town, he can be safe and sane, grounded away from his secret fantasies.

Or so he thought.

Stu can already tell something is off when he returns back to the house, though he isn’t sure what exactly. Like it’s almost  _ too _ quiet. Astrid’s mother isn’t home now, maybe that explains it—but it still feels a little strange. So he proceeds cautiously on tepid feet. It’s a little hard because the stairs creak, and there’s three flights all the way up to his little attic. And normally he’d travel there unperturbed, or sometimes stop on the third floor to lie down in Astrid’s room for a while. That wasn’t what he was planning to do, but before he slithers into the attic, he hears… laughter coming from Astrid’s room. Familiar laughter. The emotion he feels when he hears it is indescribable.

Could it be…?

“What the  _ fuck _ are you bastards doing in here!” Stuart practically yells when he slams the door open. And who else could it be but John Lennon and Paul McCartney, having themselves a little giggle as they rummage through the room. The neatly folded clothes in the tidy little dressers have been yanked out carelessly and strewn about the room—Astrid’s shirts, Stuart’s shirts, Astrid’s trousers, Stuart’s trousers, Astrid’s…  _ what the fuck is wrong with these guys! _

“Oh, Stukins,” Paul cocks one eyebrow nonchalantly, and Stu shudders inwardly when he hears his… nickname. “We were hoping to find you here, but there was nobody home, so we just let ourselves in.”

“Get out,” he barks, taking a step forward. “I’ll kill you! Bastards!” 

“I can’t believe this wardrobe,” John half-mutters, half-snickers, holding up a pair of Astrid’s underwear. “I can’t even tell which clothes belong to you and which belong to Astrid. How’s it feel wearing a bird’s knickers, Stu?”

“Shut up! For fuck’s sake, shut up! A-and put that down!” 

“Don’t be like that, Stukins,” Paul smoothly maneuvers behind Stuart and drapes an arm over his shoulder while slyly shutting the door behind them. “You should treat your houseguests kindly…”

“You made a mess of the place! I oughtta slag ye—“

“Oh my, what’s this?” John fake-drawls and holds up a dress obtained from the closet. It’s a sleek and fairly simple and somewhat skin-tight dress, all black with an airy, slightly pleated skirt. The sleeves reach down to the elbows, and the collar is a low-cut U-shape with a lace border. “I’ve never seen  _ Astrid _ wear a dress. Is this hers or yours?”

“It’s hers. Put it back.”

Paul stares thoughtfully at the dress. “I think it would look good on you,” he comments.

“What!!”

“I like the way you think,” John sneers and takes a step closer. “Alright, Sutsy, you heard ‘im. Strip.”

“Like hell I’m gonna—you can’t make me—“

“Strip off your clothes.  _ Now _ .”

And there it is again—Stuart feels a flutter in his chest, a little twitch in his cock. Being told what to do, being forced and handled roughly—he hates it, and he loves it. The hot rush of pleasure he gets from it is immeasurable. 

So reluctantly, he bites his lip and slowly tugs off his scarf and his polo-neck and his trousers, one by one, exposing himself to them… 

“ _ All _ your clothes.”

Stuart clenches his teeth and slides off his underwear, then sits down on the bed. Before he can take so much as a breath, John throws the dress at him. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

So the dress comes on with embarrassing efficiency, as if putting it on was something he had already done a million times over. It’s softer than any of his own clothes, and the fabric feels cool and relaxed over his skin. The fact that he’s wearing nothing underneath seems to amp up the thrill he feels.

“And they call  _ me _ the pretty one,” Paul says.

“Alright, Stukins, give us a show,” John yells and folds his arms expectantly.

“You’re not getting anything of the sort from me and you know it!”

“Oh dear, that’s too~oo bad,” Paul drawls. “But an attitude like that only earns you punishment, you know.”

So John pushes Stuart onto the bed and handles him roughly with exploring hands. He smirks when he gropes Stuart and elicits a small moan.

“No, please don’t punish me,” He squirms when John touches him and blushes deeply.

“You’re getting hard, love, you know you want it.”

“I promise I’ll be good, don’t punish me…”

John sits on the bed and pulls him into his lap so that Stuart’s back is pressed against John’s chest. Paul positions himself right in front of them and watches with amusement as Stuart’s body twitches. The dress conforms to his slender body suitably and accentuates his hips almost obscenely, and as he grows more and more aroused, the more obvious does his hard cock become through the thin veil of the fabric. 

“Please,” Stuart moans softly and trembles when John’s fingers wrap around his waist, keeping him held in place. Paul smirks when the two of them have gained complete control over his body, knowing full well of the submission he has surrendered himself into.

“Well then,  _ Slutcliffe _ , let’s get started.”

—

Stuart whines quietly as John thrusts harder and strengthens his rhythm, each roll of his hips deep and sharp. The sick bastard is sneering from behind, he can tell. 

Paul coos mockingly at him, toying with his hard length through the thin black fabric of the skirt. When Stu whimpers, he smirks, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Does the little pet wanna come?” Paul teases him, his skilled fingers slightly squeezing Stuart’s cock. “Does he now? I bet he does. What an adorable little  _ slut _ .”

“M-macca…” Stu almost  _ sobs _ , his mouth agape, at a loss for words as the sensation of being fucked in John’s lap fills his mind, driving out everything else. There is only  _ feeling _ , and the only feeling is  _ submission _ . It fucking floods his mind. He is  _ submissive _ .

He is so lost in John’s movements that he doesn’t hear the creaking of floorboards from somebody climbing up the stairs.

And by the time he does, it’s too late.

Soon, John and Paul hear it too—they falter; they slow down and stop. Listening to the footsteps getting closer… Stuart remembers suddenly that Astrid should be home from work any moment now.

_ N-no… oh no... _

The color drains from his face as the doorknob turns, and she pushes it open.

Then there is Astrid Kirchherr, standing in the doorway, and completely exposed to her is her own goddamn fiancé being fucked up the arse by his two best friends.

In  _ her  _ room.

On  _ her _ bed.

Wearing  _ her _ dress, on top of it all.

Stuart is utterly, hopelessly speechless now. He tries to say something, tries to justify the situation, but can’t put together anything that sounds like coherent English, and instead just stares helplessly at Paul, who cocks an eyebrow.

“Fancy seeing you ‘ere, luv.”

Astrid’s expression is barely readable—her grip on the camera hanging from a strap around her neck is loose, her posture relaxed. Desperately, Stu searches her face for the inevitable sense of betrayal, waiting for her to tear up and storm away, not even letting him chase after her and try to make it up with “I’m sorry”’s spilling out of his mouth or anything. God, he searches for it.

But it’s not there.

Slowly, her uncertainty is replaced with a small gleam. Stuart realizes what she’s thinking, and absolute  _ horror _ floods his mind.

It’s so much worse than betrayal.

No.

It can’t be, but… that look in her eyes…

There’s no other explanation.

She’s  _ fascinated. _

Astrid raises the camera, calmly, and her voice barely breaks a whisper.

“Go on.”

Stuart tears his terrified gaze from his fiancée and looks at Paul again, but it’s John who speaks next.

“Oh? What’s this?” He sneers, greedily running his calloused fingers through Stuart’s hair. “Looks like Miss Astrid is fuckin’ intrigued. Go on then, Stukins. Give ‘er a show.”

“N… no…” Stu stammers, his face reddening once more. “En… e-enough…” He begins to struggle—but doesn’t expect John to rein him back and suddenly thrust into him fiercely, so taken aback, he arches his back and before he can stop himself he fucking  _ moans _ , trembling with pleasure, humiliation, and he thinks he can see laughter in Paul’s eyes as John keeps bucking into him again and again like a fucking  _ beast. _

“Y-you… you f-fucking  _ idiot… _ ” Stuart chokes with each thrust, his small chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Paul leans forward so that his lips almost graze Stu’s, and coaxes the older boy forward, pulling him into a harsh kiss.

_ Snap. _

Stuart hears the sound of a camera shutter going off and realizes that Astrid is  _ taking fucking pictures of him. _ He starts to squirm, trying to break out of everybody’s grips so he can breath and scream  _ “What the fuck are you doing?!” _ to her, but Paul eagerly clutches his cheeks so that he can’t tear away from his lips, so that Astrid can keep photographing him, capturing the image of Paul McCartney’s tongue deep down her fiancé’s throat.

_ Snap. _

_ Snap. Snap. _

He can’t keep trying to resist it anymore. Stu gives up the fight and cranes his neck, reaching up to meet Paul’s demands as the reality of it all washes over him: that he is  _ cheating _ on her, his beloved Astrid, and at this point, she deserves this much, at least. Photographic evidence that he’s Lennon-McCartney’s fuckpet and had been so while he’s fucking  _ engaged _ to her, and that he will remember forever the day, this day, when she found out about it and fucking  _ liked  _ what she saw. That much, at least.

_ Snap. Snap. _

“John, put your hand on— _ around _ Stuart’s neck…”

_ And now she’s fucking  _ posing  _ us?! _ He will make sure not to underestimate her in the future.

“ _ Gladly _ .” John growls and immediately clasps his right palm around his lover’s throat and tightens harshly, almost choking Stu, still fucking him. He whines, squirming, trying to free himself from fucking  _ everything— _ John’s grasp, Paul’s lips—fuck, even cute little Astrid could dominate him, couldn’t she? Such a goddamn  _ pet. _

“Danke.”  _ Snap. Snap. Snap. _

Paul finally releases him, grinning as he watches Stu gasp for breath and flutter his eyelashes and hope the worst was over—but it’s not, he finds out as the boy starts groping him through the skirt as he was doing earlier and he starts to twitch all over—involuntarily—and small moans escape his mouth.

“Stuart,” Astrid is very attentive now, focusing on the image as if everything was normal—as if photographing your boyfriend wearing your dress and having sex with his two bandmates was _fucking_ _normal_. “_Please_ stay still.”

“You heard ‘er, luv." McCartney purrs, squeezing Stuart’s cock. “ _ Stay still. _ ”

“ _ N-nnghhh… _ ” He groans, incredibly frustrated, yet somehow manages to compose himself. Somewhat.

_ Snap. Snap. _

_ _ Stu quivers just as John snarls and begins to thrust harder. Paul retracts his hand and instead reaches underneath the skirt and pumps Stuart’s raw length, a smug glint in his edge.

“ _ A-aah~! _ ” He yelps, throwing his head back, jaw agape in a moan. Any more sensation and he’ll start crying for sure.

_ Snap. _

“Now, Paul…” Astrid nudges, seemingly able to interpret her fiancé’s situation. “If you can…  _ bite _ Stuart, his—his neck…”

“ _ Wh-what?!”  _ Stu stares at her, dismayed, starting to lash out in futile attempts to struggle, to escape. He knows Paul is very skilled when it comes to mouthwork—he will never stand a chance if he were to  _ bite _ him. No. He can’t let that happen. “N-no, don’t… Macca, d-don’t listen to ‘er!”

“Oh, now? You’d like me to  _ bite _ ‘im?” It’s too late—the devilish smirk spreads across Paul’s face. He leans in close.

“Yes—Put mouth—your mouth on zhe right side. Yes… Stuart, stay still for me,  _ please _ . Move your head a little, back—no, zhat enough… John, your hand…  _ Perfect _ .” 

And as he does this, Paul lets go of Stuart’s cock and starts pumping himself instead. John moves his hand back so Paul can get at his throat easily—a nicely coordinated effort that proves very effective.

“ _ N-ngaa-aahh… Nnh… N-no, no-o~! _ ” Stu whimpers as Paul’s teeth nip at his sensitive throat, certainly leaving bruises where he attacks him. Stu feels tears fighting at his eyes. He has never seen this side of Astrid, so calm like her normal self and yet so unrelentingly, unmercifully  _ cruel _ , and maybe this is to be his punishment for having betrayed her. If so, he fucking deserves every last second of it.

_ Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. _

Soon, almost too soon, the pressure is enough to bring him over the edge. Stuart comes abruptly, almost screaming his pain and pleasure as the fluids spill over himself and darken Astrid’s dress. His orgasm is so intense he barely feels John and Paul coming as well and barely hears John cursing as he does it.

_ Snap. Snap. _

_ _ Stuart’s chest is heaving; tears roll down his flushed cheeks. Paul sits back, admiring the mess he and John had managed to make of their little pet. Lennon lets go of Stu and pushes him off his lap so that he collapses face-down on the bed, panting heavily, completely worn out from being fucked.

_ Snap. _

He dares to glance at Astrid once more. She’s staring right at him, and the sharpness in her gaze immediately floods him with so much guilt that he quickly shuts his eyes, ears burning with shame.

“How was that, Miss Kirchherr?” John asks, nonchalant as always.

“Very good.” She replies, and Stuart slowly opens his eyes. “It was very good. Danke-you.”

“Need anything else, luv?” Paul winks at her, but Stu can’t muster the strength to snap at him for doing so.

“No, this is enough.” A sweet, motherly smile. Astrid lowers her camera. “Now leave.”

“Aww. What a sweet bird you are, Asser.” John grins cheshirely and pulls a face. “Sure ye don’t want a turn?”

Stuart’s mind immediately coils into a blinding, searing red rage at the thought, and he opens his mouth to scold his bandmates, but Astrid beats him to it.

“Get the fuck out of my house before I contact the police and have you both arrested on charges of breaking and entering as well as first degree sexual assault.  _ Arschgeige _ .”

—

Stuart remains there on Astrid’s bed for what seems like eternities. He is beyond exhausted; his neck aches and so does his arse, not to mention the constant droning pressure in his head that seems to get stronger every day. Now, he lies there on his back, breathing deeply, his delicate body ravaged and abused. He is still wearing the dress—it is surprisingly comfortable, but he won’t dare admit that to anybody.

“Stuart, darling.”

Stu turns to look, and there is Astrid in the doorway, smiling, looking clean-cut and dressed well in her black t-shirt and slim dark jeans—and totally calm, unlike him, an absolute petite mess in her angelic presence. 

“You are—no, were… did very good today.”

He blinks slowly. 

“You’re not… You’re not mad?”

She shakes her head and walks closer, sits down on the bed, and gazes at him with a merciful softness in her eyes; reaching to him, she strokes his freckled cheek with her thumb.

“You’re beautiful with the dress.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

“You must wear it. I will give-to you.” Astrid goes on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Later, after when you rest, I want to photo-you, wear it—alone.” She adds gleefully.

Stu grins sheepishly and averts his gaze as a soft blush overcomes his freckles. “But… I got it all dirty…”

“Is okay. I go wash it.” She pauses for a moment, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, relaxing her body over his, entwining their small hands together. Each of her slender fingers match up perfectly with his, and gently furl down to encase them. “I’m not mad. It was very good.” A soft sigh. “And it looked so…what do you say?  _ Homoerotic… _ no, more than that…”

The artist stammers. “Wh-who taught you to say that?!”

Astrid only chuckles in return. “You know… I know a lot. About…  _ queers _ .” The word, the  _ word _ , said so plainly and in the open, sends a jolt through him, and he opens his mouth to defend himself, but she interrupts him again. “You heard? Klaus and George…”

“Klaus and— _ George _ , you say?” His eyes widen. “Y-you mean… they…”

“Yes. They is—are together now.”

Immediately, Stuart’s mind envisions Klaus’s bedroom, barely lit, warm and comfortable—George’s virgin body strewn over the bed, his wide teethy eyes gazing up helplessly as Klaus climbs on top of him, undresses him,  _ touches _ him, and their lips meet in the shadows,  _ undoing, _ and the soft noises made as they start to…

_ No. Now is not the time.  _ Stuart scolds himself fiercely, pushing down those filthy thoughts, and is brought back to reality. “S-since when?”

“One month. You have not know?”

Stu shakes his head. “This is the first time I’m hearing it…”  _ So the little bug has a boyfriend now. I guess that just makes one of us that isn’t queer…  _

“I’m proud of them. And of you, with John and Paul…”

“Y-you’re the only one for me!”

“I know… but… I like that. I am your fiancée. You are they’s  _ pet, _ right? So is okay. I only wish you tell to me sooner but—is no big deal.”

“E-er…”  _ Damn, does even  _ she _ think John and Paul own me?  _ But he just gives up, closing his eyes for just a moment and sighing. “I really really love you.”

She gazes at him wondrously at that, with such wide and extravagantly placid eyes. Stuart is once more, as he has been countless times already, marvelling helplessly in their ceaseless waves of patience and beauty—yes, completely enamored in her. He always is, really, and he opens his mouth to say something else but is quickly cut off—

“Okay now is my turn!”

“Wait— _ what _ ?!”

Stu sputters and tries to sit up but Astrid quickly straddles his hips and forces his wrists down onto the mattress on either side of his head. She holds him down firmly and in his shock, he’s too stunned to try and struggle from her.

Then she breaks into a giggle and loosens her grip slightly. “I’m just kidding… kind of. Maybe another time. You must be tired.” She leans down and kisses him again, still as gentle as before, still loving. “I love you,” she coos sweetly.

Stuart closes his eyes and relaxes, letting her warmth melt over him. “I’d let you, if you wanted,” he offers sheepishly. “I really messed up, I—I’ll make it up to you, I’ll do anything…”

“Silly boy. Don’t worry about it.” She chuckles as she embraces him. “You will sleep now, that is what I will tell you.”

Stuart can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him as Astrid reassures him of their love. Of course it still flows strongly and sweetly, no matter what… no matter what John or Paul do. Yes, he can be assured of that much.

So he’ll put off his decision for a little while longer, he thinks as he dozes off.

**Author's Note:**

> hoog this is an OLD series and this has been sitting in my drafts for literal years but i wanted 2 get this finished hehe... hope yall enjoyed it. please leave kudos and comments if u did! love, me :)


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